Love Letters
by The Mocking J
Summary: Hershel isn't really fussed about Valentines Day and yet here he is being forced to write love letters.


**Love Letters**

Fifteen-year-old Hershel Layton didn't understand the appeal of Valentines Day, if he was honest. Oh, it made sense for happy couples like his parents. Pa and Ma would exchange cards and gifts – chocolates, wine, jewelry etc – in a simple yet sweet gesture to show their love for each other. Hershel might even make them breakfast in bed. Nothing overblown, just a sign of appreciation.

But then you had the opposite side of the coin: People freaking out over what to get their beloveds, pouring their hearts and funds into the 'perfect' gift.

Even more pitiful were those who found themselves single on Valentine's Day and rushed to conquer their significant other's heart.

Unfortunately for Hershel, Randall fell into this category. While Randall claimed to be the 'handsomest chap in town', he couldn't work up the courage to ask out the girl he'd been smitten with for years.

As tomorrow was February 14th, he thought it would be the perfect opportunity to confess his feelings through a letter... which Hershel would write.

"Pretty please, Hershel? I'll be your best friend!"

"Why don't you just tell Angela how you feel?" Hershel said, shifting through his books. "I have a lot of homework to do..."

"I would if I could!" Randall shoved his hands in Hershel's face. "But every time I try, my hands go dry and my mouth goes clammy – you know what I mean! I can't get a word out!"

That's a first, Hershel thought. "Couldn't Henry help you instead?"

"I've already sent Henry out to buy a present for Angela. All you have to do is write a romantic letter to go with it. It should be easy enough. You're always writing in that diary of yours!"

"It's a journal, actually." Why, oh why had he brought it to school?

Hershel sighed and Randall got down to his knees. "I'm begging you. I need to woo Angela before Dalston makes his move – "

"Angela isn't a prize to be won," Hershel pointed out dryly.

"Of course I know that! But who would you rather see her with? Me or that bonehead?"

Neither of them at this rate.

Then Randall made things interesting. "I won't give you a puzzle for a whole month."

"Make it three months and we have a deal."

As much as Randall could talk for Stansbury, Hershel was the better penman between them.

However, the letter would have to wait until after his tutoring session (or 'casually swapping notes' as Dalston called it). Dalston may have excelled at tourism and business studies, but Math was not his forte.

"Layton…" One hour into their library session, Dalston perked up like a bulldog begging for treats. "Do me a favour, will you?"

"It's probably better if I explain the equations rather than you copying all my work – "

"Forget that. I need a hand writing this love letter – "

"For Angela?" Hershel said flatly.

"Yeah." Dalston grinned. "Just don't tell her I asked you."

Surprisingly, there were a few qualities Dalston and Randall shared. Both shined in their passions while having the attention span of a rock. The two of them were head over heels for Angela. And worst of all, you couldn't argue with either of them.

Saddled with tutoring, homework, and writing two letters, Hershel was exhausted that evening. It had gone midnight by the time he finished his two-paged essay on Laputa: The Floating Island (Curse you, Collins!) and started on Angela's letters.

He was no poet, but he wanted Angela to feel appreciated. She was more than just an object of Randall and Dalstons' affections. After Randall, she was the first student Hershel had spoken to at St Vernon's… and admittedly, he had warmed up to her faster than Randall. If Randall was a boundless ball of energy, Angela was soothing and bright like the springtime sun. Patient, conscientious and usually smiling… but not without her concerns.

Hershel didn't know the full details. All he'd heard were bits and pieces from Randall.

"I looked up to him when I was little… He left on an excavation trip when he was seventeen. Seventeen!... Angela's parents won't let her stay out past nine… She worries so much because of them… I'll never let her down like that."

Hershel had never asked Angela about it. He didn't need to. Even though he was an only child – maybe because of that – he could empathize with her loneliness. That pain of turning around and having no one to talk to. There were just some things he couldn't tell Ma and Pa (mostly involving his adventures with Randall).

Angela had it worse. She couldn't have a conversation without her parents fussing over her activities, her grades, her appearance, her relationships, her future...

She had 'blurted' it out to Hershel one day before apologizing and laughing it off.

"I sound like such an airhead, don't I?"

Hershel had pointed at his bird's nest of a hairstyle. "Have you seen my head?"

'Your laughter is like a peal of choir bells~'

He trailed off mid-sentence as his words became blurry. Rubbing his eyes, he went to retrieve his third cup of tea.

"It's not like you to leave things until the last minute," Lucille said.

He offered some groggy reply and trudged back upstairs.

Not fifteen minutes later, his father found him slumped at his desk. Roland tutted and tucked a blanket around Hershel, raising a bushy eyebrow at the letter on his desk addressed to 'Dearest Angela'. Not one letter – but two! He'd had no idea Hershel was so taken with that young lady, or with Valentine's traditions at all.

Tittering, Roland took Hershel's stack of teacups away. If only he had thought to set Hershel's alarm clock…

Hershel was awoken by Ma's calls and knocks at his door. He yelped when he saw the clock – Eight thirty! –, fell out of his chair, threw on a change of clothes, flung open the door and flew past Ma.

"Hershel…?"

"I'm late!" He had never been late a day in his life. Okay, maybe once after an exhausting adventure but that was one time and it was Randall's fault. He was late again today because of Randall! And Dalston!

Quick shower. Teeth brush. No point in combing his hair. He made it to the door when he realized something was missing.

"I think you forgot this."

"Thanks, Ma," he puffed as she passed him his satchel and an apple.

She smiled tiredly. "You need something for breakfast."

So much for breakfast in bed... "I'll, uh, make dinner later."

She told him not to worry and shooed him away.

As he legged it up to school, he checked Angela's letters and his essay were in his satchel. Yep. Two envelopes and one wrinkled essay, all accounted for.

He stormed upstairs (because of course they were on the first floor) and staggered into the science lab five minutes after the bell. Mrs. Borris let him off with a warning. Thank goodness. He could live with that.

"I was worried you'd actually skip a day of school," Randall whispered as Hershel slipped onto his lab stool.

"Oh, shut up."

Randall gave Hershel five minutes to recover his breath. Then he asked meekly, "So… did you get a chance to write Angela's letter?"

Hershel forced him to wait until the end of the lesson before handing him an envelope.

"You're a lifesaver, Hersh!" Randall smiled at the envelope, when it was suddenly plucked from his hands. "Hey!"

Dalston waved the envelope over Randall's head as if it was a golden ticket. "Thanks, Layton. I owe you one." He swaggered downstairs to the entrance hall.

Randall would have chased after him if Hershel hadn't held him back.

"Calm down. You can have Dalston's letter – "

"You wrote a letter from Dalston?" Randall gasped, wriggling out of his grip. "Hershel, you traitor!"

"Both of the letters are anonymous, so it doesn't matter," Hershel huffed. He pushed the spare envelope into Randall's hands. Randall's brows rose at the cursive writing of Angela's name.

"Wow, this… this looks beautiful. Angela will love it. Thank you." He smirked and slung his arm around Hershel's shoulder. "Come on. Let's find Angela!"

They didn't encounter Angela until lunch time. She was sitting in the canteen, chatting to Mary and some other friends. She smiled as Randall and Hershel approached them. Her eyes narrowed slightly when Randall presented her with the envelope. "What's this…?"

"Happy Valentine's Day, Angie!" Randall hid his nervousness with a laugh.

She tore open the envelope and scanned the paper. She frowned. Hershel's eyes widened.

Randall offered her a blue flower brooch, picked up by Henry. "This is also for you – "

"Oh, great," Angela grumbled. She flipped the paper around, revealing the second page of Hershel's Laputa essay. "Another archaeology paper."

"W-what?" Randall took the paper and turned it over in his hands. He shot an accusing glance at Hershel. Hershel shrugged. If Randall pinned this on him, he would have to admit to being the penman. Randall settled for blaming Dalston.

"Dalston messed up my papers – "

No more smiles and sunshine now – Angela's face was like thunder. "Yes, he gave me the same paper earlier. I didn't find it funny the first time." She surged past him, out of the canteen. Mary glared at Randall and rushed after her. Hershel followed, catching up to them in the entrance hall.

"Angela – "

"Leave us alone," Mary snapped. She was plump enough to block Hershel's path, but short enough that he could see over her head. He sent Angela a pleading look. Angela sighed, moved Mary aside and folded her arms.

"Were you in on this too, Hershel?"

"Y-yes…" Hershel admitted. He raised his hands when Mary barred her teeth. "But it wasn't meant to be like this! Randall wrote you a Valentine's letter and it got muddled up with my essay."

"I knew that writing was too neat to be Randall's… or Dalston's." Angela hummed. "So, both of them wrote me letters that just happened to get mixed up with your work?"

Hershel nodded. Angela held his gaze for a moment and shook her head.

"Thanks for being honest with me. Can you ask Randall to meet me at the gates after school?"

"Will do." He pulled his journal and a pen out of his satchel to jot down a reminder.

'I mustn't forget to tell Randall to meet Angela after school… But first, he can help me sneak into Collins' room and switch my essay for the letters… I'll have to stop by the market on the way home to get some ingredients for dinner. I wonder what Ma and Pa would like…?'

He glanced up when he heard the girls giggling.

"What? It's just a journal!"


End file.
